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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670889">Twinge of Scarlet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyans/pseuds/merelyans'>merelyans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Cryptids [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Lovers, Iwa is literally the mothman, M/M, Mothman, Oikawa hunts cryptids, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:14:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyans/pseuds/merelyans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This night, just like every other night, the idiot has returned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Cryptids [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrimpheavnnow/gifts">shrimpheavnnow</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Uh, so, yeah.</p><p>There's really not much more I can say to explain myself.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This night, just like every other night, the idiot has returned.</p><p>Iwaizumi doesn’t have <i>time</i> for this. He’s running low on groceries, which means he has to go into town soon, and <i>that</i> means rummaging through his cave for his good jeans, and he just can’t be bothered to do that right now. He also has to set up his new bathroom mirror, and he doesn’t even have the correct wall mountings, which is also a huge ass problem he doesn’t want to deal with.</p><p>Not to mention he can hear <i>his</i> voice again, talking his goddamn sensitive ears off.</p><p>“Allllright Space Explorers, today on Exploring My Cosmos, I, your wonderful, amazing, brave host, Tooru Oikawa, am in the middle of <i>fucking</i> Point-frickin-Nowhere, West Virginia to track down the <i>mysterious</i> Mothman.”</p><p>It would have been interesting to listen to, since Iwaizumi’s practically bathing in his own gossip every time he goes into town, but this is the fourth night in a row that fucking <i>Tooru Oikawa</i> has done that very same intro. Obviously, he’s not satisfied with the severe lack of Mothman that Iwaizumi has so graciously blessed him with these past few nights.</p><p>And tonight won’t be any different.</p><p>He’ll stay in his cave, tucked away in the trees, blanketed by a thin layer of summer night, and have a moth’s, or rather, a bird’s, night in. Just for himself, as a treat, since he’s been so good at not swooping down on tourists lately. He should get one of those ‘so many days since an incident’ posters, but he doesn’t have the space. But he <i>should,</i> since it’ll add a little more humor to his life.</p><p>But Oikawa is <i>loud.</i> Practically begging to get swooped down on, begging for a Mothman to come wreck his shit and send him running for town where he have a false sense of security. But as loud as he is, he also has a <i>camera,</i> and if Iwaizumi lets himself get seen, and that video gets uploaded, then there goes any hope he has at a peaceful life in his little cave.</p><p>He just got an xbox, and nothing, absolutely <i>nothing</i> can pry it from his cold, mothy hands.</p><p>He looks down at his hands as they rest on his kitchen countertop, the nightly transformation only about halfway completed as the moonrise rears its head. His wings have already fully sprouted, and his vision is laced with a twinge of scarlet, everything sharp with hardened outlines. He can almost see every speck of dust he missed on his cleaning day, and makes a mental note to deep clean the cave after his errand day.</p><p>Maybe he needs to go into town after all, get more lysol wipes and maybe a bathbomb, just to enjoy during the day. Like he said, he’s been <i>very</i> good about not swooping down on people that enter his woods.</p><p>“So,” Oikawa speaks up again, a bit louder this time, drawing out the nearing-permanent scowl on Iwaizumi’s face. “I wanted to answer a few questions tonight,” He begins, and Iwaizumi’s ears perk up. This is new, he hasn’t done this in his three night adventure across Iwaizumi’s front lawn. “First, I want to see if the Mothman is real, of course. Second, I want to see if Mothman is friendly, or if he or she or they are hostile. If I ever go missing, it was Mothman.”</p><p>Well, he’s right about one thing. </p><p>“Third, I want to see if Mothman has the same abs and sweet cake that yummy statue of him has in Town Square.”</p><p>Yep, Iwaizumi is definitely going to kill him.</p><p>Iwaizumi groans and leans over on his counter, his pasta dinner threatening to boil over beside him. His palms cover his eyes, rub until his vision goes a little bit redder, and he sucks in a few shallow breaths before he stands up straight. He stirs his pasta, just to get his life together a little bit, and then absolutely loses it over the vague high-pitched chirping sound coming from outside.</p><p>“I think that’s what the Mothman sounds like,” Oikawa speaks to the camera, his voice drawing nearer, his footsteps clamoring over snapped sticks and the hard, woodsy ground. The high-pitched sound returns, and Iwaizumi just about unfurls his wings in sheer rage. “Do you think this’ll get him or her or them to come out and say hello?”</p><p>“It’ll fuckin’ get me to do something,” Iwaizumi huffs to himself, and turns off the stove. </p><p>It’s night four, and if this is any night like the past three, Oikawa is going to be out until three in the morning, and Iwaizumi won’t be able to get <i>any</i> sleep. If he oversleeps, he misses his window of time to go out while he’s still in human form, and he <i>really</i> needs to run his errands. This is all Oikawa’s fault. He’s deciding it now. Everything that goes wrong for him from now until the foreseeable future is now Oikawa’s fault.</p><p>But Oikawa, again, has a <i>camera,</i> and Iwaizumi just can’t fuck with that, test fate. Maybe he can steal the camera, or break it, or just swoop in a way where he doesn’t get caught. He could even kill Oikawa, but that seems a little extreme. Iwaizumi’s “heartless human eater” days (even if there was no actual human consumption, just a nasty attitude) are over, he’s all about the swooping and the terrorizing now.</p><p>Fuck it, one more strike and he’s going after him, just to get that camera and crush it or Oikawa with his bare hands.</p><p>The high-pitched sound returns again, and Iwaizumi slams his hand down on the counter, eyes going fully red as the anger triggers the whole scope of his transformation. It’s mostly that of a shadow, his features very blurrily defined unless you’re staring him in the face, limbs long and sturdy. His wings are heavy on his back, but they ache and yearn to be outstretched. His eyes, the one thing that people seem to notice first and always remember. </p><p>The eyes that many a tourist have seen gleaming from the treetops, staring, watching their every move. They always try to rationalize them, that it’s something reflecting the light of their flashlights, the glint of an owl’s gaze, or perhaps that it’s just all in their heads. But night after night, year after year, Iwaizumi watches, and he learns.</p><p>He’s learned how to protect his home, his secret, and his life, and with Oikawa drawing nearer and nearer with every hour he spends mapping out the woods, he’s becoming a threat. And Iwaizumi needs to do something, anything, to keep such threats at bay.</p><p>He makes sure the stove is off, double checks his appearance in the mirror, tousles his hair a little to give him more of a wild look, and steps out of the long, dark cave entrance into the darker night. He looks around, squinting, trying to find movement before he fully commits to the take off.</p><p>“Oh, Mothman~” Oikawa taunts, and Iwaizumi’s head snaps towards the left, his eyes capturing the outline of a live body, moving through the trees with his hand thrown up in a peace sign. “It’s actually kind of nice out here, it’s not too hot, not too cold. I can see why a cryptid would choose this place to dwell.”</p><p>Iwaizumi takes off into the trees, flapping over them as he tracks down Oikawa, and then perches on a branch just a little ways away. He can see the back of Oikawa’s head, his hand on his hip as he pans around the woods, flashlight attached to his camera.</p><p>“Okay, so this is night four of my journey, I’ve come up with nothing yet, but I refuse to give up, at least until tomorrow night. I have such a good feeling about tonight, though, tonight, I will find something, I swear it.”</p><p>Iwaizumi almost scoffs, digging his elbow into his knee to prop his head up and watch. What an idiot, he’s not going to find anything. He’s just wasting his time here, time that he could use to do something actually useful with his life.</p><p>Who the hell even dedicated their precious time to hunt down the <i>Mothman?</i> Iwaizumi <i>is</i> said cryptid, and even he’s able to separate it from his identity, even if just for a little bit. But whatever, he’s just a bird-man, what the hell does he know about what humans want?</p><p>Oikawa’s phone rings, and he pulls it out, unhooking the flashlight from his camera. Iwaizumi’s eyes follow the light as Oikawa swings it around, leaning in to get a better look. Oikawa rests his shoulder against a tree, and presses the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Alright, it’s almost midnight, why are you calling me?” Oikawa asks, and it’s the first time Iwaizumi’s been able to hear anything other than his stupid camera persona. </p><p>His voice isn’t as lilted, isn’t as forced and fake. Iwaizumi regards the fact that Oikawa might actually be a normal human sometimes. Sometimes. He’s still making high-pitched warbling sounds in the middle of a forest to try and coax out a bird-man that most people think is a myth.</p><p><i>”Oikawa, you gotta come out of the woods at some point,”</i> A voice says in a way that just screams ‘disappointed but not surprised’. </p><p>“What are you, my mom?” Oikawa snorts, scratching the side of his head and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I’ll be back soon.”</p><p><i>”Oikawa,”</i> The voice warns, and Iwaizumi moves to a closer branch. <i>”You promised that you’d come back every night at midnight, where are you?”</i></p><p>Oikawa looks around, and Iwaizumi looks a little to his right, the direction in which the entrance is. Oikawa looks left, and his posture tenses up, almost as if he knows that he’s lost.</p><p>“I’m near the entrance,” He lies, his voice low and uncertain.</p><p><i>”Yeah, sure,”</i> The voice scoffs, and Iwaizumi drops down another branch, eyes fixated on the flashlight reflecting off the tree trunks, turning them beautifully ashen and silver. <i>”Look, it’s been three nights already. If you haven’t found Mothman yet, you’re probably never going to find him. They’re elusive cryptids for a reason. You know that.”</i></p><p>Oikawa rolls his shoulders, his posture starting to droop. “Well, yeah, I know…” He clears his throat. “But this is what I’ve been waiting for, Makki, you know that too. One more night,” He hesitates. “Please?”</p><p>The voice, Makki, groans on the other end.</p><p>
  <i>”Don’t get eaten by a bear.”</i>
</p><p>“I don't think there’s bears in West Virginia.”</p><p>As if on cue, a coyote howls in the distance, Oikawa turning to look behind him in the direction of the threat.</p><p>“But there might be wolves.”</p><p>Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and Oikawa almost double-takes at the sight. He fully spins around on his heel, a move so jerky that it makes Iwaizumi flinch. Makki still scolds his ear off, but Oikawa clearly isn’t listening, his eyes fixated elsewhere. He’s looking upwards, his whites and pupils like giant saucers. His face pales immensely, his hand now lingering inches away from his head, as if his entire body language is falling apart.</p><p>And <i>oh,</i> he’s… actually kind of attractive. </p><p>And completely frozen in fear.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>Oikawa starts to shake, unable to blink, unable to move, looking up at Iwaizumi with a twisted and horrible expression. Iwaizumi looks down, only now fully aware of the fact that he’s only two trees away from Oikawa, perched with his wings spread about seven feet overhead. </p><p>Oikawa makes a noise that’s more like a primal <i>squawk,</i> and his phone drops out of his hand, still on Makki’s call. It hits the ground with a soft thud, and Iwaizumi latches onto the branch, Oikawa just <i>staring</i> up at him. Shit, shit, shit. Do something. Do <i>anything.</i></p><p><i>”Hello?”</i> Makki calls out, which seems to break Oikawa’s trance. <i>”Oikawa?”</i></p><p>Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow, and Oikawa falls backwards, his camera pointed upwards in his hands. Iwaizumi lets out a small growl, eyes focused on the camera, and Oikawa fucking <i>scrambles</i> to his feet, taking off in silent terror through the trees.</p><p>Swoop, attack, hell, even eat the dude. Just get that fucking camera back, even if he has to pry it from Oikawa’s stiff, dead fingers himself. </p><p>Iwaizumi opens his wings more, but the flashlight on the ground and the phone screen lit up keeps him frozen in place, keeps him staring at the ground as Oikawa gets away. Move, you idiot, move! It’s just a fucking light! Move! He’s getting away!</p><p>He drops down to the floor, and picks up the phone, hands trembling as his head whips around for a direction.</p><p>
  <i>”Oikawa, if this is a joke, it isn’t fucking funny-”</i>
</p><p>He presses the end call button, and bends over to touch a finger to the hot, white light of the flashlight. It burns a pleasant sort of burn, and Oikawa’s footsteps and heavy panting disappear in the distance as if they had never existed at all. The phone rings again, the name ‘Hanamaki’ displayed with a photo of a man that <i>looks</i> like he would enter a fistfight with a cryptid. </p><p>Iwaizumi blinks, lets out an angry groan, and picks up the phone and the flashlight to turn the damned thing off. <i>Oikawa has a camera, and that camera was pointed at him.</i> That’s what’s important right now. Not a light, or the way it makes the trees look pretty, but the fact that his sense of survival has been compromised.</p><p>Fuck, he knew Oikawa would be nothing but trouble. He knew that coming out here would be nothing but trouble, and if he didn’t see something shiny, maybe things would have been better. Maybe things would have been okay. But Oikawa clearly has some sort of platform, and most <i>definitely</i> has the intent to share whatever that camera captured of him. He needs to get that camera, at any cost.</p><p>He launches himself into the air, arms outstretched as he scans the area for anything that might give away Oikawa’s location. He’s not <i>that</i> fast of a runner, right? Unless he’s some kind of athlete, he should still be in the woods. He’s still attainable, and can be stopped. Plus, he has no phone, no light to guide the way. He’s a human blindly running into the thick of the woods, and this is Iwaizumi’s domain. His home.</p><p>Iwaizumi flaps steadily, hovering above the treetops, winding and weaving his way in and out of thick trunks and heavy branches as he swoops down on everything that moves. An owl screeches angrily at him, a few coyotes cower in fear, but there’s no sign of the goddamn human. </p><p>The human that could ruin it all.</p><p>His precious cave, his peaceful life, his years upon years of secrecy, all of his childish fun chalked up to drugs or hallucinations, but this? This was proof. Proof that he existed. Proof that some cryptids were, in fact, <i>real.</i></p><p>He pumps his wings, his body whisked higher, higher. It isn’t about trying to be discrete about this, it’s about finding the goddamn human before millions of people know versus the population of the town that already knows of his presence. He <i>needs</i> to find that camera, <i>needs</i> to get rid of every loose end, <i>needs</i> to track down Tooru Oikawa. It’s a matter of his own secrecy, peace, and pure, unfiltered survival. Not just for him, but for all the other cryptids, too. </p><p>Shit, Bokuto is going to kill him if he gets exposed, and he doesn’t even <i>want</i> to think about Sugawara’s dark side. He can handle Bigfoot’s bullshit, though, that bitch owes him a few favors.</p><p>But there’s <i>no</i> sign of the human, like he just up and disappeared into town with no trace. And with the moon this high, the night this present, there’s no way Iwaizumi can chase him into town. He looks at the phone in his hand as Hanamaki calls again, and he stares in wonder.</p><p>
  <i>He has Oikawa’s phone.</i>
</p><p>He beats his wings, hanging in midair as he stares off in the distance, the twinkling lights from town almost like a distant lighthouse in the sea of his own world. He turns with the wind, and flies back home, landing on his feet outside of his cave, his lair, his little haven away from human life, and steps back inside.</p><p>Oikawa is here for another day, and he’ll get his chance to track him down. Get his chance to hunt the hunter. Get his chance to not be some human’s selfish <i>prey</i> for once in his life, the minute dawn grazes the skyline.</p><p>And finally, he can play the monster he was born to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*throws overused tropes at you to hide the fact I didn't think too hard about how I would get them together*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oikawa’s leg shakes, arms pressed firmly over his body as he sits across the diner, eyes flickering between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who look equally tired as they dig into their pancakes. Oikawa looks down at what they’ve ordered for him, and yesterday, it would have been funny, but now, the raspberry eyes of the Mothman mock him.</p><p>Matsukawa chews, carefully watching him as he raises a napkin to his mouth, and Hanamaki dives straight in, speaking through the hand that covers his stuffled mouth.</p><p>“Are you not going to eat?”</p><p>Oikawa glares, his leg stopping as the anger exudes off of his body, Matsukawa and Hanamaki giving each other a side eye. Hanamaki puts his fork down slowly, and Matsukawa folds his hands out in front of him.</p><p>“I see the fucking Mothman last night, and you <i>still</i> order me the fucking pancakes?” He cradles himself, his posture falling apart completely. </p><p>After a night of <i>very</i> unrestful sleep and nightmares, and not to mention all the times his body went into vibrate mode so hard he threw up, this is the absolute last thing he needs. He needs more respectful friends, first of all.</p><p>“Come on, man,” Matsukawa takes another bite of his pancake. “You probably just psyched yourself out last night. You were pretty incoherent when you got back to the car.”</p><p>“I don’t think yelling ‘drive, fucking drive’ counts as incoherent,” Hanamaki mumbles, earning a flick to the forehead.</p><p>“I’m telling you,” Oikawa holds his head in his hands, the memory of a deep, glaring scarlet permanently burned into the back of his eyelids. “I saw him. I swear it!”</p><p>“Oikawa, I hear you, I love you, I couldn’t ask for a better co-host,” Matsukawa begins. “But you don’t even have proof. You have a lost phone and a camera that you just so happened to inconveniently turn off minutes before seeing the Mothman.”</p><p>Oikawa stares at his food, the raspberries turning soggy in the syrup. The pancake doesn’t even look like him, the limbs a wrong proportion, the fact there’s four wings instead of two. The eyes aren’t nearly the right shade, and strawberries would have been a better bet. He grabs his fork and stabs the pancake, leaving the fork upright with a shaking hand.</p><p>“I know what I saw,” He seethes, staring at his plate. “I don’t have proof, sure, but I <i>know</i> what I saw.”</p><p>Even if Makki and Mattsun never believe him, he knows that what he saw, what he ran from, was real. All he has to do is get proof, and his dream of hunting cryptids will <i>finally</i> take off. </p><p>Years of making dumb videos online to help pay for his rent never really took off more than it was destined to. Hunting for bigfoot only for people to focus on the scene where Makki fell into a river, searching for the rougarou just to come up with footage of their antics on Bourbon Street, everything far and few in between. It was always about making dumb, fun videos that never proved anything.</p><p>He’s always wanted just <i>one</i> video to prove something. One video that proves he’s not some idiot that dropped out of film school to hunt down things that never existed. Just another washed up internet personality that’ll never amount to anything after his fifteen minutes of fame is over.</p><p>But this? This changes everything. This is him coming face to face with something so vividly <i>real</i> and <i>terrifying</i> that he just has to go back. Swallow every ounce of fear that guided him back to the car last night, choke down every ounce of worry that kept him from standing his ground. </p><p>He knows what he saw, and even if Makki and Mattsun disagree and only want to go places to get ad revenue that fuel their love of not having a real job, he needs them, too. Needs them to believe him, let him go back out, maybe even borrow one of their phones since he so stupidly lost his own in the scuffle.</p><p>He grabs the fork and starts cutting into the pancakes, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa breathe a little easier. They watch him as he eats, slow at first, with little bites that probably only taste like sugar, but slowly grow into him actually getting some food in his stomach. He eats the raspberries, just to feel powerful, and turns his head to look outside.</p><p>He nearly chokes.</p><p>Across the street, the strongest, prettiest arms he’s <i>ever</i> seen loop through shopping bags. His eyes travel upwards, and his breath hitches in the back of his throat because <i>damn,</i> someone like <i>that</i> lives in Point Pleasant, West Virginia?</p><p>He almost entirely forgets about Mothman.</p><p>Hanamaki says something to him, but he can’t bring himself to divert his attention away from the man standing on the sidewalk, scrolling through his phone with an unimpressed face, moving to check the bag and the industrial pack of zip ties he bought. He’s gorgeous, and if Oikawa wasn’t freaking the fuck out over having come face to face with a cryptid and was planning how to get the hell out of this town, he’d probably have gone up to the man and tried his luck. </p><p>But the cute ones are always straight. Or super weird. Or both.</p><p>Hanamaki starts snapping his fingers out in front of him, and Oikawa turns his attention back to the situation at hand, “Oikawa, are you even listening?”</p><p>“No,” He declares, Hanamaki rolling his eyes. “But I do want you to know that I’m going back into those woods tonight.”</p><p>Hanamaki and Matsukawa groan in unison, the sound of disappointed-but-not-surprised.</p><p>-</p><p>Another night, another idiot.</p><p>Was Iwaizumi’s swooping not enough to scare him off? </p><p>“Okay, don’t lose Makki’s phone,” Oikawa reminds himself, and Iwaizumi starts hitting his fully-transformed head against the wall next to his newly-hung up mirror. “Find Mothman, and then get a photo.”</p><p>“Oh hell no,” Iwaizumi mutters to himself, eyes narrowing as he stares in the general direction of where Oikawa’s voice is coming from.</p><p>He had spent the day watching, waiting, waiting for Oikawa’s dumb socal media accounts to upload the video proof he had gotten, or for at least his twitter to announce that yes, he <i>found</i> something.</p><p>But no, it was just a stupid little “only Oikawa is dumb enough to drop his phone in the woods lmao” from one of his cohosts’ page. It was… baffling… to say the least. Iwaizumi had spent the day expecting to hear the buzz around town that their beloved Mothman is still among them. </p><p>Still among them and buying way too many zip ties than what’s necessary to keep all his damn wires in place. Seriously, why is one hundred goddamn zip ties the smallest amount he can buy? He only needs three.</p><p>Humans and their greed. </p><p>“Okay Mothman,” Oikawa’s voice tears him from his thoughts. “I know you’re out here. I know you can probably hear me. If you can understand me, I just want you to come out. All I want is a photo.”</p><p>“You already got one,” Iwaizumi presses his hand against his head, wondering when the last time he bought ibuprofen was.</p><p>He <i>knew</i> he was forgetting something when he went out today. Dammit. </p><p>“Maybe…” Oikawa trails off, and Iwaizumi relishes in the few seconds of peace and quiet before that damn high-pitched chirping sound comes back. “Am I speaking in moth?”</p><p>“I am going to kill him,” Iwaizumi declares to himself, the words coming out as a series of incoherent babbles, his human vocal cords long lost in this form. “I am actually going to kill him. This is the day Mothman eats someone.”</p><p>But then again, he doesn’t want to deal with cooking a human, or the storage it’ll probably take. And human doesn’t even <i>sound</i> appetizing. Okay, fine, Mothman remains strictly non-humanitarian, for the time being, at least, since human is probably stringy as hell and he doesn’t even want to imagine the prepping process. How does Kuroo do it? </p><p>Damn wendigo.</p><p>He shudders, thinking about how it would be lovely to make a spinach salad for lunch tomorrow, but Oikawa starts <i>screaming.</i></p><p>And god, what the hell is it this time?</p><p>But then a coyote <i>snarls</i> from the same direction, and Iwaizumi’s ears perk up, the bristles in his ear canals soaking in the sound of heavy footsteps and the sound of a predatory chase. Twigs snap, and more coyotes howl, and Oikawa’s no doubt their chosen hunt.</p><p>His body moves on its own, completely stumbling out of his cave, launching into the night air before he can think about what the hell it is he’s doing. He’s heard coyotes chase prey before, mainly rabbits and squirrels, but he can’t let <i>Oikawa</i> get hunted down in his woods.</p><p>Or any other human. Not just Oikawa. </p><p>Maybe. </p><p>Probably.</p><p>His wings unfold and stretch as he flaps around, trying to pinpoint Oikawa’s location. There’s howling from every direction, coyotes signalling that one’s gotten big prey, a good haul, and in this moment Iwaizumi truly understands just how much of an idiot Oikawa is.</p><p>Better go save his sorry ass.</p><p>He scans through the trees before he locks onto the running figures, and then, he swoops. </p><p>He’s been doing a lot of swooping lately, but it’s good exercise for his wings. It’s been a while since he was able to freely float like this, and even longer since he was able to go for a nighttime fly without worrying about who might see him. And, of course, in true overused trope fashion, Oikawa trips right when the coyotes start to catch up.</p><p>Because of course, what else could possibly fucking happen?</p><p>If it weren’t for him, Oikawa would surely be dead. So in the end, Oikawa owes him a favor, and he knows exactly what favor to cash in.</p><p>He drops down, right between them, Oikawa laying on the forest floor, dirty and sweaty as hell, small scrapes and cuts littering his face from where the twigs had whipped and lashed him. The coyote, who apparently has more sense than Oikawa, skitters backwards the moment she lays eyes on Iwaizumi, his red eyes shining in the night, a low growl on his lips as he makes himself as big as possible.</p><p>His wings stretch to their full span, almost aching from how hard he’s pushed himself these past few nights, his figure nothing short of <i>terrifying</i> as he stands off against her.</p><p>She snarls, and Iwaizumi knows that she has pups to feed. Otherwise she wouldn’t be this determined to hunt. But they’re both creatures of the night, creatures of the earth, and they understand each other. Iwaizumi lets out another growl, one of the only noises he can make in this form, the raspy chittering echoing in his throat as he stares her down.</p><p>Her ears pull back, and she whines, stepping backwards.</p><p>Her pups need a mother, and she knows that she can’t win against her fellow creature.</p><p>She takes her howling elsewhere, and Iwaizumi turns on his heel, wings still unfolded and menacing, eyes narrowing as he looks down at the panting, dumbstruck Oikawa. He gulps, his limbs shaking in either fear or pain, and his eyes blink blearily up at him. They’re glossy, unfocused, but he damn well tries his best to stare down the figure above him. </p><p>And Iwaizumi can smell blood.</p><p>He looks down, and Oikawa’s leg is gushing, umber spreading across the leaves, the heavy scent of copper hanging heavy in the hair. He shakes, wincing at the pain, eyes glued to Iwaizumi as his breathing turns into whimpers.</p><p>And then, he gives up. </p><p>His body goes slack, his eyelids fluttering closed when the pain proves too much, Iwaizumi staring down at him with his wings and arms out wide, the breeze carrying both the smell of a wounded creature and the howls of the coyotes. He makes another low growl, head looking around to try and catch any sight or noise or just <i>any</i> hope that someone else could help him, that whoever he was with last night can come and rescue this poor idiot.</p><p>But there’s just Oikawa. And there’s just Iwaizumi.</p><p>He lets out a distressed chatter through his teeth, and lifts the brunet man off the ground, his body limp and lighter than Iwaizumi had expected in his arms, lamenting the thought of doing what he <i>has</i> to do. He flaps his wings with one hard thrust, and takes off back into the air.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry this took almost a month to update! been planning lots of things and got caught up in other projects :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Oikawa asks when he wakes up isn’t “what am I doing in a cave” or “why is the cave nice” or “why does the cave have an xbox”, but the one staring back at him and digging into his wrists.</p><p>“Did the Mothman <i>zip tie</i> me to a chair?” </p><p>He looks down at the thick black zip ties that confine him to the armchair he’s currently sat down in, facing a cave wall that’s a little less than damp and furnished with a lovely abstract painting.</p><p>He struggles against the ties, his left one way too tight, nearly small enough to cut off the blood circulation to his hand, the other one a little too loose, like someone had tied it in a hurry. A phone rings behind him, the vibrations immediately stopping as Oikawa tries to crane his neck to see what’s watching him.</p><p>Because something is definitely watching him.</p><p>“Mothman?” He squeaks out a call, a small chittering movement shifting behind him, his hair standing on edge.</p><p>Okay. This is fine. This is totally fine. This is… terrifying. Who is he trying to kid? Either the fucking Mothman zip tied him to a chair or some crazy forest person did and he really <i>isn’t</i> liking either of his options. And the red glow reflecting off of the frame around the painting really isn’t making him feel any better.</p><p>His head throbs, his limbs ache, but he doesn’t <i>feel</i> like he was chased by coyotes. In fact, there’s a haphazardly bandaged wound on his arm, which in all honesty, still aches and throbs and stings, but it’s been <i>bandaged.</i> And someone had to have done that.</p><p>“Tooru Oikawa,” A semi distorted voice asks behind him, and every muscle in his body tenses up. Human voices aren’t distorted, but then again, Mothman’s only ever chirped or whirred at him.</p><p>“Why am I facing the wall?” Oikawa shakily breathes out the question, the syllables leaving his mouth like a jumbled mess of sounds.</p><p>Something approaches, and all the hair on Oikawa’s body stands up straight, his neck, hands, and feet turning frigid. He’s never felt so vulnerable. Well, there was that one guy he dated that was a little too into BDSM for Oikawa’s tastes, but consensual blindfolding and handcuffs are very, <i>very</i> different to waking up in a cave with something that can probably kill you in one blow.</p><p>Does the Mothman eat people?</p><p>He should have done more research. Oh god, maybe the Mothman <i>does</i> eat people. He’s going to die in this chair and end up as moth food, unlike <i>literally</i> everyone else he’s researched, who gets away with psychic visions and stories of a big screechy thing flapping above their car. Which, now that he thinks about it, where are <i>his</i> psychic visions? </p><p>Great, he’s the first person ever to see Mothman twice, end up in the Moth Cave, get murdered by Mothman, and he didn’t even get sweet glimpses of the future before dying.</p><p>He should have stayed in film school.</p><p>“Your knocked out face was kinda freaking me out,” The distorted voice gravels out, large hands, human in shape, but with longer, darker fingers, snaking around the back and swivelling him around so that he’s facing the interior.</p><p>And… it looks like an apartment. It looks like one of those studio apartments with exposed cave walls instead of exposed brick, amateur wiring duct-taped and zip-tied to the ceiling and the walls. His eyes wander around the kitchen area, and are those fucking granite countertops? Not to mention there’s a full living room setup, a tv resting on a wooden cabinet, multiple gaming systems hooked up to it. John Carpenter’s “They Live” is paused, the screen starting to darken with its inactivity.</p><p>What… the fuck.</p><p>No, what the actual <i>fuck</i> is happening?</p><p>He looks up at the figure looming over him, sucking in a breath as it takes a few steps back, crossing its arms over his chest, staring back at him with carmine eyes. There’s something human in there, something else that’s monstrous, and even something familiar buried under the dark smokey shapes and shrinking figure. </p><p>The wings are smaller, caving into themselves, like they’re folding inwards before disappearing in black wisps. He’s not as tall as he had been, something around six and a half feet opposed to eight, which is still terrifying, but hey, it’s better than it had been. </p><p>And he’s a <i>he.</i> Which, sure, Moth<i>man,</i> but Oikawa’s always believed more in the fact Mothman was just a name given to the creature by the patriarchy and could totally have been a Mothgal or Mothpal. He’s a he, and those features look familiar, Oikawa squinting in a long, hard stare before it clicks.</p><p>“You’re the hot guy!” He exclaims without really thinking about it, cringing to himself as the ruby glow expands in shock for a split second.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You, no,” Oikawa blinks away the shock. “You were in town with the hardware bag. You!” He cuts himself off, the words scraping his throat as he sputters for an explanation. “What the fuck is happening?”</p><p>“I’m the what?” Mothman’s brow furrows, something inherently upsetting and unnatural about the way his face contorts that puts Oikawa into fight or flight mode. “The <i>what</i> guy?”</p><p>It’s human adjacent, not quite human, not quite monster. It’s not as terrifying as his past experiences had been, but there’s something that’s <i>wrong</i> about everything that’s happening that makes it hard to breathe, his chest equally tight and full of rocks. His face heats up and he averts his gaze, unable to stay away for longer than a second, his gaze glued to the figure before him.</p><p>He can’t look away, and his vision blurs, and his face tightens, and his body is throbbing and everything just hurts. His knee hurts. And everything is so confusing, like the thoughts and the possible explanations are clawing their way out of his brain, trying to just make sense of what’s happening. </p><p>His mouth is dry, and he starts jerking against the restraints, panic starting to settle in.</p><p>“Let me go,” He orders, the demand weak and less than threatening.</p><p>“No,” Mothman shakes his head, his arms firmly crossed like a scolding parent.</p><p>“I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Oikawa begs, tears starting to spill from his eyes. And it’s embarrassing, to beg like this, to be so vulnerable, to completely surrender to the will and mercy of some monster, but he doesn’t want to <i>die</i> here. </p><p>He could <i>die</i> here. He’s already dumbly announced he knows the Mothman’s secret identity, and if he was in Mothman’s… socks? Is he seriously wearing socks right now? The goddamn Mothman wears <i>socks?</i></p><p>That’s not important right now. Another point for the unsettling column, but not important. </p><p>He can’t die here. He can’t leave his family behind. He has his mom, his sister, his nephew. He has Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who are probably worried sick about him. How long has he been out? Minutes? Hours? Days?</p><p>Do they already think he’s dead?</p><p>“Please,” Oikawa begs again, the word more of a broken sob, the tears falling fat and steady. “I swear I won’t say anything.”</p><p>“Your camera,” Mothman holds out his hand, and Oikawa stares through the tears. </p><p>“What?” He rasps.</p><p>“The first time you saw me, you took a video. Give me the footage first.”</p><p>Oikawa blinks.</p><p>“So you’re not going to kill me?”</p><p>Mothman rolls his eyes. “No, I just want the fucking footage.”</p><p>“I don’t…” Oikawa trails off, speaking through rapid breaths. “I don't have it.”</p><p>“Then who does?”</p><p>“N-No one, there’s no footage.”</p><p>Mothman freezes, eyes burning brighter than before.</p><p>“You’re telling me that there was no footage.”</p><p>Oikawa shakes his head, trying to stop the tears from slipping down his cheeks. Mothman clenches his jaw, his monstrous features enhancing with his anger. He whips his hand out, and Oikawa flinches, his left hand breaking free. Mothman slides his claw under the other zip tie, and Oikawa stares down at his freed hands, still stuck to the armrests like he’s glued down.</p><p>This can’t be right. This… he’s been kidnapped. He’s been kidnapped by the Mothman, zip tied to a chair, discovered that the Mothman has a human form, and now he’s… free to go? He looks up and meets Mothman’s lightening eyes, the red dulling into a muddled brown, hints of green splashing around the edges, looking for any sign of malice.</p><p>“I don’t-”</p><p>“Well, I mean,” Mothman rolls his shoulders, regaining his composure. “You what, go back to town after a night in the woods, visibly disheveled, and say the Mothman tied you to a chair?” He blinks back. “People have said worse, and no matter what the hell you say, you’ll just be written off as some crackpot investigator.”</p><p>His grin is telling, his shoulders relaxed, figure hazy around the edges but screaming out in full certainty. His expression goes beyond knowing, and Oikawa’s mind cycles through every story he’s heard of Mothman, every little piece of evidence that’s been written off as some fairy tale on steroids. How many people whose lives have been forever affected by Mothman, swearing up and down they’ve seen him, interacted with him, that he still stalks them, lurking in the shadows.</p><p>No one will ever believe him if there’s no photo proof, no video, no account. If he leaves here, he’s Tooru Oikawa, a man who lost his phone in the woods and got attacked by coyotes while chasing after something that’s only seen in nightmares and bad trips. </p><p>And Mothman knows that, all too well.</p><p>Mothman looks at him expectantly, his human features growing more and more prominent as the seconds go by, the tan skin he had seen yesterday poking out from behind the hazy wisps. Oikawa wipes the last few tears from his eyes and puts his hands in his lap, Mothman looking at the cave entrance, then back to Oikawa.</p><p>“What are you waiting for? I said you were free,” Mothman snaps his fingers, making Oikawa flinch. “Wait, here.”</p><p>He goes over to his kitchen counter and returns with two phones, one of them slightly cracked, with a familiar teal case that’s been dirtied, the other being Hanamaki’s stupid bear shaped phonecase that’s too big to fit in his pocket. Mothman drops them in his lap, and Oikawa stares, both understandably uncharged and completely dead.</p><p>“Disposing of this might leave a trace I don’t want to deal with. Now, leave,” Mothman orders, nodding towards the door. “I have shit to do.”</p><p>“You…” Oikawa starts, still trying to come to terms with the fact that Mothman’s having an actual conversation with him. He’s long stopped crying, the confusion and absurdity of the situation taking over. “I don’t understand. What the fuck?”</p><p>“No one’s going to believe you anyways. I mean, what? Tell everyone I live in a cave with a fully stocked kitchen, watch movies and eat salads?” Mothman reiterates. “And it’s way too much trouble to keep you here or get rid of you. It’s best for everyone If I let you be free and have everyone think you’re some kind of crazed lunatic running around the woods all night.”</p><p>Oikawa opens his mouth, but he can’t even argue.</p><p>What <i>was</i> he going to say? What would he tell people? It’s not like he can show his zip tie marks to the cops and get them to what, arrest the fucking <i>Mothman</i> for tying him to a chair? </p><p>And the Mothman is letting him go. Just walk away, no strings attached, and something deep and dark starts to creep up his spine as he starts to wonder what would have happened if he <i>had</i> taken a video. Obviously the man before him wants to stay hidden, stay safe in his little hovel, but isn’t concerned one bit about people knowing. </p><p>He stands up, his legs throbbing and wobbly, his knee searing as he flops back down into the chair. Mothman’s eyebrows knit together, and Oikawa cries out, grabbing his knee with both hands, biting his lip.</p><p>He probably fucked it up last night from all his running and tripping. The adrenaline trickles out of him like a leaky pipe and he curses every fucking god that dares listen that his knee chooses <i>now</i> to have a flare up.</p><p>“I can’t,” He grips his knee, the words heavy and bitter on his tongue. “My knee’s fucked up and I can’t walk.”</p><p>“Not my problem,” Mothman tries.</p><p>“I can’t leave,” Oikawa rephrases, gesturing to the bloody bandage on his leg.</p><p>“Oh, no, you’re <i>going</i> to leave,” Mothman returns, forcefully.</p><p>“Not everyone can just fly out of here,” Oikawa spits, biting back a cry as a sharp pain ripples through him. “Dammit, I can’t walk. I can’t leave.”</p><p>Mothman stares long and hard, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he thinks. The seconds that pass are even longer, his stare intensifying immensely, Oikawa sinking into himself as he watches the crawling transformation of monster to man.</p><p>“You’re more problematic than any human I’ve ever met,” Mothman settles on with a disgruntled huff, his narrowed eyes now halfway shifting into green. </p><p>Oikawa can see it clearer, that charm he had been drawn to when he first saw Mothman’s human form across the street. He’s… attractive, as much as Oikawa hates to admit it. He can’t believe he finds the fucking Mothman attractive, but here he is, at a loss for words under the smoldering heat of those green eyes.</p><p>He hates this. He hates everything about this. </p><p>Mothman checks his phone, which Oikawa is no longer surprised about, and his Godzilla case makes it seem like even more of a joke, and sighs. “Gotta wait until sunrise, I can’t go out like this.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me?” Oikawa huffs, and Mothman flops down on his couch, unpausing the movie and folding his arms over his chest. “You’ve been flying around like a maniac and <i>now</i> you’re self conscious?”</p><p>Mothman pauses the movie again and gives him a stern look. “I’m not going out when I can be easily traced back to my human form,” He motions to the parts of him that have yet to transform back. “I like my quiet life, and I don’t need punks like you ruining it for me.”</p><p>Oikawa sputters out a laugh, half in disbelief, half in pain over the heavy throb of his leg. Punks? What is he, an old man throwing lemons at people so they stay off his lawn? Actually, he can <i>totally</i> see that.</p><p>“I can’t believe this.”</p><p>“You and me both,” Mothman seethes, his features rapidly crossing back over into human.</p><p>“Can I at least charge my phone?”</p><p>“Kitchen, knock yourself out,” Mothman says, almost bored, and Oikawa blinks, looking down at his injuries.</p><p>Why in hell was he ever scared of this jerk? He’s useless! Years of looking for cryptids, and the first one he <i>does</i> find is some hot jock with a thick skull. He could have found those at any frat house on campus, and the fact this one turns into a legendary monster isn’t even impressive anymore. Most guys do that when the sun goes down anyways.</p><p>He works up the courage to get up, his knee flashing something white and hot, his weight falling onto his other foot. Luckily, his injured leg is the same as the bad knee, and he’s able to hobble his way over to the kitchen to plug in his phone with some determination and some quiet whimpers.</p><p>Everyone’s probably terrified, worried sick out of their minds about where he is. He had promised Makki and Mattsun that he would be back before midnight, which usually means around three in the morning, but it’s… six? Seven? He’s three or four late, and that’s enough of a warrant for every search party in the state to come looking for him.</p><p>Right?</p><p>He leans over the counter, taking note of and internalizing everything he can, waiting for his phone to light up with a slew of notifications. The kitchen is nice, and how the Mothman got everything in here without drawing attention to himself is beyond him.</p><p>And how could he afford any of this?</p><p>Either the Mothman is out there stealing appliances or he buys them, which opens a whole new world of possibilities and questions that Oikawa frankly doesn’t have the brain power to think about right now. The little logo pops up, and his heart pounds against his chest, eyes moving over the screen for any sign of life. His lock screen pops up, and he grabs it, scrolling through all of his notifications.</p><p>Which…</p><p>There’s nothing. He should have expected that, they knew his phone was missing and he was using Makki’s phone last night. He unplugs it after it gets to a certain percent and plugs in Makki’s phone, waiting for it to load up as he runs through his twitter, a severe lack of activity surrounding his sudden disappearance staring back at him.</p><p>Makki’s phone lights up and starts buzzing, and he grabs it to scroll through the messages.</p><p><b>(02:36) From Issei&lt;3:</b> u good oiks?<br/>
<b>(03:21) From Issei&lt;3:</b> dude, we’re cold, get your ass back here<br/>
<b>(03:44) From Issei&lt;3:</b> alright fine spend the night in the woods<br/>
<b>(03:45) From Issei&lt;3:</b> just call us when you wanna get picked up<br/>
<b>(03:45) From Issei&lt;3:</b> have fun in the woods alone :)<br/>
<b>(04:22) From Issei&lt;3:</b> fuck you for not calling and please don’t lose my phone -makki<br/>
<b>(04:22) From Issei&lt;3:</b> and don’t get eaten by mothman lol -makki</p><p>There’s no other messages. A few missed calls, but otherwise nothing. Not even a where are you.</p><p>His heart deflates and his mouth goes dry.</p><p>Do they really not care enough? Or, knowing them, this is how they show care. But then again, they’ve been so worried these past few days, shouldn’t that worry have translated into something more worrying than… this.</p><p>He looks at the time, and the sun should be fully risen soon. He looks at Mothman, who’s nearly fully human again, only a few smokey, black wisps exuding off his arms and face. Oikawa cocks an eyebrow, taking in all the features he can. </p><p>So this is Mothman.</p><p>This is a cryptid.</p><p>Which means… Are there other cryptids living like this? Does Bigfoot live in a five star hotel? How many cryptids has he passed on the street? Especially now that he knows that at least one of them has a human form, just <i>how many</i> cryptids are hiding among the normal human population?</p><p>And did he run into the Rougarou on Bourbon Street?</p><p>Probably.</p><p>That one dude they partied alongside with the black and white hair and bright gold eyes had a little too much feral energy to <i>not</i> be a swamp werewolf.</p><p>“Hey,” He starts, and Mothman turns around, his movie credits rolling. “Can I call my friends to come pick me up?”</p><p>He thinks for a second, then sighs. “I’ll walk you out to the park entrance, have them meet us there. And I’m <i>not</i> coming out of the woods.”</p><p>“I’m not asking you to,” Oikawa rolls his eyes, unlocking his phone. </p><p>“You’ve gotten pretty sassy for someone who was in tears begging me not to kill him an hour ago.”</p><p>“That was before I found out you were a softie,” Oikawa gives a lazy smile, and Mothman groans.</p><p>“Alright, fuck it, let’s get you out of here,” Mothman stands up, brushing off his clothes, nodding towards the door. “I’m done, time to return you to society. Good luck trying to explain your experience.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’m crazy now, can I lean on you?” Oikawa unplugs both phones and drags his foot over to Mothman, who reluctantly lets him drape himself over his shoulder. “Wait, am I taller than you?”</p><p>“You wanna drag yourself out of these woods?”</p><p>Oikawa frowns, and Mothman nods with his apparent victory. The two start to exit the cave through a long entrance, and when they emerge, Oikawa nearly goes blind with the sudden influx of light, the sun shining on the horizon like a bright inchworm. It shines through the trees, illuminating the trees with brilliant colors, the trunks shimmering as they soak in the amber light.</p><p>“Wow,” He breathes, in pure awe of the beauty of the forest.</p><p>“Guess you got lucky getting to see a sunrise like that before moving on with your life, yeah?”</p><p>He says it like he knows Oikawa will give up. It brings a smile to Oikawa’s face, watching him act so smug, watching him act like this isn’t a problem, that carrying Oikawa through the forest and delivering him back to his friends will be the end of it.</p><p>But Tooru Oikawa doesn’t give up so easily. Never has, never will.</p><p>He’s found something, he’s one of the only people to have this experience, to have this knowledge. He couldn’t care less that people won’t believe him, he deals with Makki and Mattsun’s skepticism all the time, he can take a little more.</p><p>No, this isn’t the end of time spent with Mothman. It’s only the beginning.</p><p>A twig snaps, and Mothman’s arm flies out to stop Oikawa, Oikawa walking right into the appendage. He makes an “oof” sound and stumbles backwards, Mothman grabs his shirt to keep him steady. </p><p>Through the trees, lanky movement, movement that’s getting closer. Oikawa’s breath hitches in the back of his throat as Mothman produces a hand full of claws, all of the wispy blackness that surrounds his features fully dipping into his right hand. His eyes narrow, a twinge of scarlet flickering behind his pointed gaze, and two figures enter the clearing.</p><p>Oikawa’s jaw drops, locking eyes with a disheveled and tired-looking Hanamaki. His eyes transfer from Mothman to him, and Matsukawa picks up the words someone, <i>anyone</i> is searching for.</p><p>“Oikawa?”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This may be the end of the first installment of the haikyuu cryptids series, but it most certainly isn't over! Stay tuned for the next installment centered around more iwaoi and the Jersey Devil.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Iwaizumi hates this.</p><p>It should go without saying, but he will say it until the day he’s found dead in his cave. He hates this, he hates Oikawa, he hates the whole fucking group. He hates that Hanamaki is looking through his fridge for things to eat, and he especially hates that Matsukawa is watching a movie on his tv.</p><p>And he hates Oikawa’s smug little face.</p><p>He just looks so punchable, and if he was in moth form, he could do some damage. Well, he could probably do some damage now in his human form, but he’d much rather knock Oikawa over with his wing and say it’s an accident than go up and punch him in the face and try to play it off.</p><p>Or he could probably just do it anyways.</p><p>“You look like you wanna punch him,” Hanamaki slithers up to him and wraps his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder, Iwaizumi shivering at how sudden and quiet the man seems to be.</p><p>He’s almost like Kuroo, able to travel long distances with his prey being none the wiser, which is terrifying in its own right. He really doesn’t like being treated as prey, and the fact that he’s the shortest human in the room isn’t helping.</p><p>“I do. And then him,” He looks at Matsukawa. “And then you. Then back to Oikawa.”</p><p>Hanamaki stares, his eyes widened in a sense of short lived shock, breaking out into the wheeziest laughter Iwaizumi’s ever heard. Somehow, it fits. He slaps Iwaizumi on the back, and the tension in the room starts to ease up, Matsukawa cracking a smile and even Oikawa relaxes a little as he cleans up his wounds.</p><p>“I like you, Mothman,” Hanamaki grins, flopping down on his couch. “You’re funny.”</p><p>“I’m not trying to be funny, I want all of you out.”</p><p>“That’s what makes it funnier!” Hanamaki counters, resting his head in Matsukawa’s lap, the latter immediately moving to thread his fingers through the former’s hair. “Man, Oikawa, you manage to bring everyone into your own shit, don’t ya? You found a fucking cryptid and decided to make yourself his problem.”</p><p>“Wonder where he learned it from,” Iwaizumi sighs heavily, watching Matsukawa prop his legs up on his coffee table. </p><p>“So Mothman-”</p><p>“Iwaizumi,” He corrects, and the room falls silent.</p><p>It’s Hanamaki that speaks first, “What?”</p><p>“I hate the name Mothman, so I chose a new one,” He explains, and watches as everyone stares back with blank eyes and rapid blinking, everyone trying to wrap their heads around it. “Iwaizumi. First name redacted until you earn it.”</p><p>“You could have chosen any name, any name in the world, and you chose <i>Iwaizumi-”</i> Oikawa starts, gagging on the name. “Iwa-chan, there you go. Cute, fun, and affordable.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that-”</p><p>“Yeah you can’t call him that!” Hanamaki bangs his fists on his thigh, and Iwaizumi almost smiles at the prospect of having someone on his side. “That’s even lamer than the full version. Iwaizumi. Damn, you could’ve been so badass. Fuckin’ Mortechai the Mothman, up in flames.”</p><p>“May he rest in peace,” Matsukawa adds, making a cross over his shoulders, tapping in the incorrect order.</p><p>“I can still turn into a giant bird creature when the sun goes down,” Iwaizumi crosses his arms over his chest, giving everyone a stern look. “Do you want to make fun of the name I’ve been using for over fifty years again, cause I can fly, and I’m sure no one would question someone falling from the sky.”</p><p>He gives a smile to punctuate his threat, and that’s what gets everyone to shiver and really soak in his words. Unease sweeps through the room, and Iwaizumi takes a seat in the only chair left open, growing increasingly sure that they aren’t going to leave anytime soon.</p><p>He should have expected this. Their whole job is to hunt cryptids, and now that they’ve found one, their apparent second agenda is to annoy him to death. Honestly, this is the exact reason why he stayed hidden for so long. He hates questions, wants his privacy, wants nothing to do with hunters or the media or fucking <i>Tooru Oikawa.</i></p><p>“Question, Mister Mothwaizumi,” Hanamaki sits up, his eyes narrowing in curiosity as he looks at Iwaizumi. And oh, Iwaizumi <i>hates</i> that look. That’s the same look he saw when he first saw his picture pop up on Oikawa’s phone and immediately decided the man before him would fistfight any cryptid he came across. “So if you have a human form, do other cryptids have them?”</p><p>“I cannot disclose any information except on the Rougarou,” Iwaizumi shrugs. Bokuto loves talking about his… condition, but other cryptids are more private. He’s definitely one of the more secretive ones. </p><p>Their eyes catch fire, and everyone turns to face him.</p><p>“Tell us everything about them,” Matsukawa speaks over Oikawa.</p><p>“Did we meet him back in New Orleans?” Oikawa tries, Hanamaki picking up where Matsukawa left off, cutting Oikawa off too.</p><p>“I need to know everything about them, please, please, please?”</p><p>Iwaizumi clenches his jaw, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa make twin puppy eyes, sticking their bottom lips out in a pout without signaling each other, which sends a shiver up his spine. No wonder Oikawa’s the way he is, he has these two idiots for best friends.</p><p>“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nods. “Crazy hair, gold eyes near the new moon-”</p><p>“New moon?” Hanamaki exclaims. “What’s this about the new moon?”</p><p>Before he knows it, Matsukawa has a notebook, looking at him expectantly as Oikawa watches from behind them, trying to hide the curiosity that’s developing in his eyes and body language. </p><p>Iwaizumi sighs. </p><p>He got himself into this, and maybe if he spills, they’ll leave on their own accord when they’re satisfied. He sits up a little straighter, and sucks in a breath. And it’s the first time he’s talked to mortals, <i>humans,</i> about himself. About his world.</p><p>He’s nervous, to say the very least. But if they share, no one’s going to believe them anyways. And those that do won’t know enough to get to him. He can spill and still be quiet, can share his secrets and live a normal life.</p><p>This is fine. Sharing is fine. These three idiots are fine.</p><p>“I change with the sun,” Iwaizumi explains. “Not every cryptid has a human form, and not every cryptid changes with the sun. There’s one-” Bokuto. “That changes with the lunar cycle, fully monstrous with the new moon and fully human with the full. There’s another-” Suga. “That changes with both the sun and the moon, I don’t really know how he works, but he’s human most of the time. And then there’s another-” Kuroo. “That controls it. Lucky bastard.”</p><p>His eyes dart around the room and he reads them, reads their interest and their desire to hear more. To hear and listen, really listen, and make a mental note of whatever they can. Mental notes, Matsukawa isn’t even writing things down, lost in every word Iwaizumi speaks, which helps put him at ease.</p><p>“I change with the sun, when it’s up, I’m human, when it’s down, I’m… whatever the hell I am. I don’t even know. I just… opened my eyes. And I was here. I think I was human once, I have no idea. Some of the other cryptids were human once, turned from a curse or other reasons. I think I must have been the same way, right?” He furrows his brow. “I mean, where else did I come from?”</p><p>He stops himself from rambling, heat dusting his cheeks as he meets Oikawa’s eyes, glossed over in a sort of regretful silence. They work over him, blink, and drop down to his own lap, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know what it means, but it thumps something in his chest. That instead of hearing his story and wanting to demand answers, there’s someone out there that listened and <i>heard</i> him.</p><p>He licks his lips and continues, “I don’t age, I don't… I just live, day in, day out. It’s repetitive, really. But it’s nice.”</p><p>“How did you find this place? Get all this stuff?” Hanamaki asks, and Iwaizumi looks around at his “apartment”.</p><p>“Got a job years ago. Invested everything except what I needed to survive. Lived off the land and moved around. Over time, it built up, and my banker is pretty chill, he’s… helped me with a lot of things. Especially passing along bank accounts from fake fathers to fake sons.”</p><p>He’ll have to thank Kenma sometime. He usually thanks him for everything he does, but he really is grateful. He’s grateful for a lot of things.</p><p>“I work when I need to. I have enough right now to last another decade or so.”</p><p>Everyone looks at each other, and Iwaizumi bites his tongue, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t have said anything. Especially when Hanamaki and Matsukawa look at each other with twin evil stares.</p><p>“So what you’re saying is, you know where cryptids are, you know that some of them remember their past life, you want to know your past life, and you have money to spend?”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s mouth goes dry. He <i>really</i> doesn’t like the look on their faces. He would rather be staring down Oikawa, compared to these two. He looks at Oikawa for help, but he’s staring back with the same malicious eyes, albeit a little softer. His eyes fall between them, feeling small.</p><p>“Yeah…” He says softly, and everyone’s smiles get huge, and Iwaizumi knows he’s made a mistake.</p><p>“Well, if that’s the case,” Hanamaki stands up from the couch, putting his hands on his hips. Matsukawa joins him, and Oikawa makes a third in their wall of faces twisted with a terrible idea. “Pack your bags, Mister Mothwaizumi, we’re taking you on a road trip.”</p><p>They’re completely serious. Iwaizumi can’t even laugh. He just stares at them and their wild, excited eyes, and knows that he never should have left his cave that night. He fell for the idiot’s call, and now, he’s ready to make yet another dumb decision.</p><p>He sighs, stands up, posture defeated and face reading like he’s lost the world, but he steps towards them. He needs to know. Needs answers as much as these three idiots do, and if they already know who he is…</p><p>Well, maybe Iwaizumi really <i>doesn’t</i> hate this.</p>
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